


Lasting Impressions

by cassie_black



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, M/M, Rating: PG13, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:45:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has his sights set on Gwen.  The trouble is, she thinks he's a bit of dick.  Now all he has to do is convince her best friend Merlin to persuade her otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lasting Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceAltie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceAltie/gifts).



> Holiday fests are one of my favourite things about fandom, so much love to the mods for keeping this one going. Thank you to my lovely Beta, D, who dips her toe into Merlin fandom once a year for me. And to spacealtie, I hope this is close enough to your first prompt to satisfy – unfortunately Merlin was not feeling very Cyrano de Bergerac-esque at the time of writing!  
> Merry Christmas, one and all!!

After-work drinks are always a bad idea, Arthur remembers belatedly, as the 'cheeky half' turns into more than a couple of pints, and then someone – Valiant, probably, the tosser – decides champagne is an excellent way for them to round off the working week. Arthur doesn't often socialise with his work mates if he can avoid it, but when he does it invariably gets messy. It's not so much that they're bad influences – it's just easier to tolerate them that way. 

But sometimes it's unavoidable. Especially after a particularly successful week. And the FTSE has been _very_ good to them this week.

The only consolation is that he's managed to steer them in the direction of Morgana's bar, and not just because of the lovely new barmaid he's got his eye on. Despite their dyed-in-the-wool -misogyny, most of his colleagues carry a healthy fear of Morgana – Arthur, included, if he's feeling particularly honest – so there's at least a chance he may make it home tonight with his dignity intact. Or, at least until his loving sister uploads the pictures onto Facebook – she's still Morgana when all's said and done.

"You still with us, mate?"

Arthur's jolted from pondering his empty glass by an elbow to the arm.

Leon is the only other reason Arthur can stomach nights like this. It's a sign of just how good a week they've had that he's there at all, because Leon generally avoids nights like these even more than Arthur does. Arthur suspects that their location was the sweetener in Leon's case, too – he's had a not-so-secret thing about Morgana for as long as Arthur can remember and never misses the opportunity to worship from afar.

Arthur smiles and it's as close to genuine and heartfelt as he is likely to get tonight. "Yeah. Too many of these, I think," and shakes his empty glass to illustrate the point.

"Stop whinging, Pendragon, you great poof." Valiant leans over and slaps Arthur on the arm. "We're barely getting started."

Arthur bites his tongue so he doesn't point out the way Val is already swaying in his seat – if anyone's the lightweight in their group, it's him. His silence goes unnoticed though, because Val's not done talking.

"Talking of poofs." He leans precariously back on his chair, and Arthur can't help but follow his malicious gaze to its destination.

Merlin's still relatively new at the bar, and Arthur has never really made the effort to speak, beyond the ordering of drinks. But to hear Morgana talk, he's like the second coming. Somewhere at the back of Arthur's brain, hidden behind the veil of alcohol, is the idea that he really ought to put a stop to this before it starts. But he doesn't, because three pints of larger and two whisky chasers on an empty stomach are clouding his head, but not enough that he doesn't realise they're straying into a territory he likes to avoid.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite serving wench." Val's chair bangs back to the floor just as Merlin all but drops the ice bucket on their table. He's tight lipped and silent, but even Arthur can feel the anger radiating – he'd see it too, no doubt, if he weren't far too busying dissecting a soggy beer mat.

"Bums on chairs, lads," Val continues, egged on by the sniggers of Cedric and Edwin. _Weasely little fuckers_ , Arthur thinks.

"Will there be anything else?" Merlin asks with impressive calm, and Arthur really hopes not, because if Morgana hears about this then there's bound to be a scene and there's no way she won't kick them all out – brother or not. And Arthur _really_ wants to try his charms on that pretty barmaid later.

"No, thank you." Leon gets in before Val, and Arthur could kiss him. Except that probably wouldn't be the best of ideas right now.

Merlin doesn't hang around – he's swallowed up by the growing crowds before Val's addled brain has time to process.

"What the fuck?" he demands, outraged gaze fixed on Leon

Leon's not fazed. He might be quiet but he's no pushover. "You were out of line," he says calmly, then holds Val's gaze until he backs down. Val's arrogant and a bully, but he's also incredibly ambitious. Leon's uncle is on their board of directors, and despite his other faults, Val's no idiot.

Argument stalled, the conversation descends into an uneasy lull. Not even the pop of expensive champagne seems to raise the mood. And Arthur's had enough. He didn't want to be there in the first place, and now he's been dragged into something that no doubt Morgana will hold him responsible for when she hears. He excuses himself to the gents but takes a detour via the bar on his return. Merlin's back behind the bar, smiling with customers, apparently having regained his equilibrium. It's good to see. Arthur doesn't know him well but has no desire to see him upset. And at least this way the tale may never reach Morgana's ears.

His eyes, though, are drawn to the pretty new barmaid – Gwen, he's heard the others call her. She's only been there a week or so, but caught Arthur's eye straight away. Definitely a break from the usual leggy blond, but there's something in her gentle smile and sparkling eyes that draws Arthur's focus.

He waits until she is free before approaching, and treats her to his most charming smile – the one that never fails to secure him company for the evening. So he's surprised to find her smile fades at his approach, and although she's perfectly polite, there's a definite frost to her tone.

"It's not catching, you know," Gwen says as she slides over Arthur's beer.

Arthur frowns and he hands over the money. "What isn't?"

"Being gay." Gwen rings the cash into the till but Arthur doesn't miss her glance in Merlin's direction.

"I never…" he splutters. "What makes you say that?"

Gwen drops the change into his outstretched hand. "You just waited for me to serve you instead of him. Just because Merlin's gay doesn't—"

"I'm not a homophobe," Arthur protests, horrified at his actions being so misconstrued.

Gwen looks sceptical at best. "Really? And what about your friends?"

Not for the first time Arthur could throttle Valiant and his cronies. "They're just…" He runs one hand through his hair, uncertain of what to say to make things right. "They didn't mean anything by it," he finishes lamely.

"They never do." Gwen gives a shake of her head and then turns to another waiting customer – she treats him to the bright smile that Arthur was denied.

"Well, that went well."

Arthur doesn't have to turn to know that his evening is about to get much worse. "Morgana."

"What have I told you before about those wankers?"

"They don't mean—"

"Yes, they do, and you know it."

Arthur sighs, because he knows she's right. With the exception of Leon, he doesn't even like them, so why the hell should he present their defence? "Okay, fine. I'll talk to them."

Morgana leans on the bar at his side and fixes him with a glare. "Last warning. I won't have _them_ , or _you_ upsetting my staff."

"What did _I_ do?"

"You managed to upset Gwen by the look of it, which I thought was impossible to do."

"It was a misunderstanding."

"So you weren't avoiding Merlin?"

"Well, yes," Arthur admits. "But only because I wanted _her_ to serve me. Not because I was worried about catching gay lurgy or something. I don't see why she's so bent out of shape anyway."

Morgana gives a shake of her head. "They're best friends."

"Oh." There's that familiar sinking sensation in Arthur's chest.

"Exactly." Morgana looks entirely too smug. "After his interaction with your friends, I doubt she'll be falling for the Pendragon charm anytime soon."

"Fuck." Arthur's genuinely disappointed, and the fact Gwen's proving a challenge only sparks his interest more. "What do I do?" It's more a rhetorical question than anything though.

Morgana's gaze narrows. "Don't fuck about with my staff. Gwen's not one of your airhead bimbos."

"I know that," Arthur protests, tired of his intentions being continually misinterpreted. "I'm serious. I want to ask her out."

Morgana's expression is sceptical and she watches him for what feels like the longest time. In the end, though, she apparently decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. "For starters, you might try being nice to Merlin."

"I don't want to date Merlin."

"No, but who d'you think Gwen will go to for advice? Whose opinion will she listen to?"

Arthur nods slowly; it makes sense. He pushes away from the bar.

Morgana grabs his wrists. "Not now, idiot. _You're_ drunk and _he's_ seriously pissed off. Go home. Get some sleep. Let the dust settle a bit."

It's one of those rare occasions when Arthur actually listens to his sister's advice. He leaves a half-drunk beer on the counter – the champagne really finished him off – and heads towards the door. But tomorrow he's trying again, and there's no way Merlin will be able to hold out against the Pendragon charm.

~o0o~

Arthur hunts Merlin down in the quirky little coffee shop that Morgana suggested – she had flatly refused to divulge his address, suddenly oh so concerned about confidentiality. He's seated by the window in one of those squashy chairs, nose buried in some painfully thick-looking book. Never one to read for pleasure, Arthur really doesn't understand the urge in others, but it allows him the chance to approach undetected.

"You!" There's something of a startled woodland creature about Merlin's expression when he finally looks up.

"Me," Arthur confirms, and tries to sit as correctly as he possibly can whilst sinking into some mock-leather monstrosity.

Merlin carefully marks his page and places the book – Proust, Arthur notes – onto the table. "How did you know I come here?"

"I have my ways of finding people." Arthur was going for mysterious, but as the words come out he realises he's edging more towards stalker territory.

Merlin doesn't speak. He folds his arms across his chest and waits.

"Fine." Arthur huffs. Some people are so serious. "Morgana told me."

Merlin's dark brows furrow slightly. "She wouldn't." 

Arthur laughs, because Merlin clearly hasn't known Morgana long enough if he believes that. "Oh, you'd be surprised how easy it is to wear her down if you know her weak spots." And if this works out, it will be worth every penny of the 500 quid Manolos he owes her.

"Why would you even bother?" Merlin leans back in his chair, narrowed gaze fixed on Arthur. "Thought of some more delightfully homophobic remarks that your friends didn't manage to get in the other night?"

"No!" The curious glances from nearby customers confirm to Arthur that yes, he did say that rather loudly, but _fuck_! "I wouldn't," he insists, and just manages to stop the _it wasn't me_ on the tip of his tongue, because he knows his silence makes him complicit. "They didn't mean anything by it. They were just—"

"Just what?" Merlin demands, and it's clear he's unimpressed with Arthur's efforts.

So Arthur sighs, straightens his shoulders, and meet's Merlin's accusatory gaze head on. "Arseholes," he says finally, because the truth is the least he owes.

Merlin doesn't look all that impressed with Arthur's breakthrough though. His arms are still folded and the scowl is still there.

"And I'm an arsehole, too." It comes out as somewhat of a question, even though Arthur knows what the answer is, but it seems to do the trick.

The smallest of smiles warms Merlin's face, and his arms make their way back to his sides. "Yes, you are," he agrees. "But you're lucky you've caught me in a forgiving mood."

"I didn't ask for forgiveness." Morgana may have a point when she says Arthur doesn't think before he speaks.

"So I noticed."

Merlin's smile is still there though, so Arthur takes it as a good sign, but just in case, adds, "I'm sorry."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "It will do, I suppose. I'm sure you'll get better at it with practice."

It's Arthur's turn to frown now. "What makes you think—?"

"Let's just call it a hunch." Merlin takes a sip of his coffee then, but not even the ridiculously large mug can hide his amusement. 

Arthur can't quite work out if he wants to laugh along or strangle him. Maybe Morgana knew what she was doing when she sent him after Merlin – another one of her efforts to 'deflate his ego' as she likes to call it.

"I assume this is about Gwen?" Merlin's expression changes again, and though he's not back to scowling the smile is definitely gone.

"How?"

Merlin shrugs. "When good looking blokes make the effort to talk to me, that's usually what it's about."

Arthur can't help but puff up a little at the compliment. "Good looking?" he repeats, just this side of teasing.

Merlin gives a dismissive sort of wave. "Don't get excited; you're still an arsehole, remember?"

Plus there's the fact that Arthur wants his help, so winding Merlin up probably isn't the best start. "I need your help," Arthur admits, and it stings a little to say it because those aren't words he likes to let leave his mouth.

"No." And that's it. Merlin's expression doesn't change and he offers nothing further.

"Why?" Arthur manages to ask through gritted teeth – it took a lot for him to come here and he's _not_ happy at being dismissed out of hand.

"If you were me, would you help? After the way you behaved?"

"But I apologised."

"True." Merlin inclines his head slightly. "But only after prompting, and let's be honest, it wasn't very convincing."

 _"Merlin_!" Right now Arthur isn't sure who he's most annoyed with – Morgana for sending him on this fool's errand, Merlin for being so damn stubborn, or himself, for being such coward and causing the problem in the first place.

"She's my best friend, Arthur. Do you really expect me to go into bat for you when I barely know you? Especially when what I do know is not all that impressive."

Merlin has a point, however much it pains Arthur to acknowledge it. If this was Morgana, or Elena, or any of his friends they were talking about if the roles were reversed, then there's no way he'd help Merlin. "Okay," he says, and runs one hand distractedly through his hair. "But I'm really not a bad bloke, I promise. Ask Morgana. Actually, on second thoughts…"

A hint of Merlin's earlier smile returns and Arthur feels a flash of hope. He conjures a picture of Gwen in his mind and tells himself this will all be worth the temporary loss of pride in the end. "What can I do to convince you?"

"Simple." Merlin picks up his book of the table and tucks it in his bag. "You have to win me round."

"How?" Arthur frowns because now Merlin's just being ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as those enormous ears of his.

Merlin doesn't say anything for a moment. He picks up his mug and drains the last of his drink before getting to his feet. Just as Arthur is about to protest, as he thinks Merlin is going to leave him hanging, he doesn't.

"You're a smart guy, Arthur. I'm sure you'll figure it out." There's a grin, and what looks like a wink, and then Merlin is gone. And Arthur is…frankly, confused.

~o0o~

Merlin's right about one thing – Arthur _is_ a smart guy. Hell, he has a First from Cambridge to prove it. And he knows that the place to start with any successful assignment is research. Know your subject. Which is all well and good but Arthur doesn't _know_ Merlin. He doesn't know people _like_ Merlin. And after several days of racking his brain, and driving Leon to distraction, Arthur is no nearer to the answer. _Ask Gwen_ , had been Leon's bright idea, which is frankly useless because A) she's currently ignoring him, and B) she's the goal. He can hardly ask her advice on how to win over Merlin so he will tell her to go out with hi . Or something like that. Just thinking it is making his head hurt.

What really sets his temples throbbing though is the painful realisation that he's got only one viable option left. Morgana. And it's likely to cost him in pride and dignity as well as in hard cash. Frankly he'd rather munch his way through a Bush Tucker trial with Ant and Dec than voluntarily show weakness to Morgana. But if he wants Gwen, and right now he _really_ does, Morgana is the only chance he's got.

He goes to the bar during opening hours – there's no way he's letting himself be cornered behind closed doors. The crowing would be unbearable. As fate would have it, it's Gwen behind the bar when he arrives – dimples on show as she bestows smiles like bounty on the other customers. With Arthur, she's achingly polite as she pours his drink, but...God help him if he doesn't find her haughty expression just a bit of a turn on.

"Have you developed a drink problem?" Morgana delights in sneaking up on people – particularly Arthur. The element of surprise is one of their father's trademark moves.

"What?" Arthur turns to face her and only just manages to conceal his irritation – he does want a favour after all.

"It's barely twelve and it's a Wednesday." Morgana deposits herself gracefully on the stool at his side. "You're here all the time lately."

"I can always take my money elsewhere." It's a bluff and they both know it if her laugh is anything to go by.

"You have an enormous tab here that I rarely make you clear," she points out.

And it's a good point too, though Arthur has no intention of admitting it. But he's still on the scrounge for a favour, so all he says is, "Whatever."

Morgana's finely-arched brows arch further still. "That's it?"

Arthur bristles despite himself. "What were you expecting?"

"Apart from the usual spoilt brat routine?"

She's provoking him deliberately; Arthur can see it in her eyes. It's a sure sign that she knows what he's up to, or at least suspects he wants something. Nonetheless, he manages to bite his tongue. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Not at all." Morgana reaches out and snags his drink. A rather large sip later, she adds, "It's a pleasant surprise. There may be hope for you yet."

Arthur reclaims his drink before it vanishes between scarlet lips. "You could just get your own. It's not like you have to pay."

Morgana ignores that and, as usual, gets right to the point. "So, out with it then."

"What?" Arthur's stomach clenches – he may have come here for this but he certainly doesn't relish the prospect.

Morgana is nobody's fool. "You clearly want something."

"I can't just pay a social call on my sister?"

"Fine." Morgana slides off the stool and onto her feet. "If you don't want my help…"

Arthur grabs her wrist before she can move. "Okay, fine. So maybe is something."

Morgana's expression says what her lips don't, and she resumes her seat. Silence continuing, she gestures for Arthur to continue. 

"It's about Merlin," he admits reluctantly.

Morgana's expression becomes carefully neutral. "Well, I can't say it's much of a surprise. Although I wouldn't have had Merlin down as your type."

It takes a few seconds for what she is suggesting to register in Arthur's brain, but when it does, the horror follows quickly behind. "Fuck, Morgana! I don't want to shag him."

"Then what?"

It's like her eyes are boring into Arthur, extracting his deepest thoughts against his will. He turns his head and looks out over the room. "It's Gwen, really, that I'm…Hang on!" He turns his focus swiftly back in her direction. "What d'you mean you're not surprised?"

Arthur's never mastered the art of glaring quite like his father and sister – they'd be Olympic champions were it an actual sport. Morgana just gives an elegant half-shrug. "Call it women's intuition."

Morgana's always been perceptive – it's driven Arthur crazy over the years – and it would be a lie for him to say hasn't been curious a time or two, but that's a million miles away from draping himself in rainbow flags and marching in any damn parade. "Fuck off," he snaps. "I'm not bent."

And because his luck has been so spectacularly shit recently, it's not until the words have left his mouth that he realises they aren't alone. Gwen's there, wine in hand, waiting patiently for Morgana's attention. Only now her expression is pinched and angry, and Arthur's words have clearly cemented his character as far as she's concerned.

"I'll come back later," she says, and fairly or otherwise, Arthur is holding Morgana responsible for this.

Morgana watches Gwen walk away and then turns to Arthur, expression curious. "So where exactly does Merlin fit into this?"

There's probably very little point anymore but Arthur has never been one to give in easily. "I need Merlin to help me convince Gwen that I'm not some homophobic wanker."

Morgana laughs – the bitch. "I don't think he can work magic, despite the name."

Arthur drains the rest of his drink. "I hate you," he says as the glass bangs on the bar.

"No you don't."

It's true, he doesn't. However much she might drive him insane on a weekly basis. "Fine. If I admit that I don't will you tell me about Merlin?"

"Like what? I've only known him a few months."

Arthur's not really sure what he wants to know, in all honestly. He's just hoping they have some common ground, some shared interest he can use to reel Merlin in. "Anything, really. Hobbies, interests, what he does when he's not in here doing your evil bidding."

Morgana reaches for the drink that Gwen left behind and takes several slow sips. Arthur isn't sure if she's really thinking that much or if she's just trying to annoy him – the safe money is on the latter option. "He reads a lot," she says finally.

"Okay, that's a start." It's about as far away from what Arthur was hoping for as it can possibly be. He reads the FT for work and the Guardian because it annoys his father, and there's the occasional leaf through Heat when Elena leaves it behind, but _books!_ Arthur hasn't picked one of those up since uni. "What sort of things does he read?"

Morgana's about as fond of reading as he is, and scrunches her nose delicately. "God knows. Him and Mithian are always having deep and meaningfuls about obscure books and plays that no one else has heard of."

"That's helpful, really." Except it isn't. "I don't suppose you caught the name of any?"

"I wasn't really listening." She takes another sip and Arthur watches her hopefully. "He did seem awfully interested in this play she went to last week. Electric or something." Morgana shrugs again. "That's all I know."

Arthur's already got his phone out and Google on the case. "Elect _tra_ ," he says triumphantly. "That's great. I'll get him tickets, and then he'll have to help me."

"You can't just buy him, Arthur." Morgana shakes her head and gives him that _don't turn out like your father_ look she has perfected over the years. "You should go with him. Try and get to know him a bit. You never know, you might actually end up liking him."

Arthur doubts it –apparently he and Merlin have even less in common than previously suspected – but Morgana has always been much better with people than he is, so for once he swallows his pride and takes her advice.

~o0o~

Right up until the point that he meets Merlin outside the tube station, Arthur is still coming up with reasons why this is such a bad idea – number one being that it's Morgana's. But then Merlin arrives and years of good manners kick in. There's still a bit of time before curtain up, so Merlin leads the way to a nearby pub where they order beer and food. Arthur reaches for his wallet but freezes at the look on Merlin's face.

"What?" It's been less than ten minutes and he's already caused some unknown offence.

"I can afford my own food, you know."

It's a ridiculous thing to get bent out of shape over, but Arthur wisely keeps this thought to himself. "It's only fair," he says, smile tentative. "I did invite you."

"I'm not a pauper," Merlin persists. He sounds rather prickly about the whole thing and this really isn't the way Arthur wants the night to start. So he holds up his hands in supplication and waits while Merlin pays for his own food, before doing the same.

The pub doesn't seem the usual pre-theatre hang-out, so thankfully there are seats to be had. Arthur follows Merlin to a small table on the far side of the room – it's a little bit cramped and their knees knock under the table, but the pinched look has left Merlin's face and Arthur begins his charm offensive.

Merlin is wary to begin with, and their limited common interests make it hard going in places, but by the time their food arrives the ice has definitely been broken.

"So what's this play about, then?" Arthur asks. He'd meant to look it up online but never quite got around to it.

Merlin stills, burger midway between plate and mouth. "You don't know?"

Arthur shrugs and ignores the incredulous tone. "I know it's Greek," he offers.

"So is a kebab," Merlin says and then laughs when Arthur's stomach rumbles in response. "You can't still be hungry."

"I'm a growing boy." And as if to prove his point, Arthur eyes the chips on Merlin's plate speculatively.

"Growing outwards," Merlin replies, inching his plate as far out of Arthur's reach as the table will allow.

Arthur chokes on a mouthful of lager. "I'm not fat!" he says in horrified tones.

Merlin runs an appraising eye over his form. "No, you're not," he agrees. "But you're not getting any younger, and that stuff won't help." He winds up with a nod at Arthur's pint. 

"Fuck off." But there's no real heat behind it. "I'm not even thirty yet."

The laughter that bubbles out of Merlin's mouth appears to be infections, and it's not long before Arthur finds himself joining in. 

"You're a bad man, Merlin Emrys."

"You like me a little bit, admit it." Merlin smiles softly, his eyes crease almost crescent like. "Why else would you get thesetickets?"

Arthur shrugs."I heard you wanted to go."

"You heard," Merlin repeats. "You mean this is part of your plot to get in Gwen's knickers. 

Arthur clears his throat awkwardly, unused to such plain-speaking. "I wouldn't put it quite like that."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Arthur shakes his head, the smile on his lips almost fond. "You're an odd one."

Merlin coats one of his chips in a thick layer of French mustard. "You don't know the half of it," he says, before popping it in his mouth.

The play isn't really Arthur's cup of tea – he'd rather be at home watching Captain America than some Greek tragedy. And Kristin Scott Thomas has definitely aged since The English Patient. But it isn't terrible, and objectively he can see how some people might enjoy it – Merlin, for instance, who's sits spellbound through most of it. Not even tearing his eyes away as he pilfers Arthur's Maltesers shamelessly. The bag does not last long and Merlin's best puppy eyes have Arthur restocking at interval. This time, though, he has the sense to buy Merlin his own bag.

They're the same puppy eyes that Merlin uses again when they're outside the theatre and the smell of fast food hits his nostrils.

"How can you possibly be hungry? You just ate half of Cadbury's World in there."

"Mars, actually," Merlin points out smugly.

"Pedant," Arthur replies, but smiles nonetheless. He gets a mocking raised brow in return. "Yes, Merlin, I know words.”

"Everyone knows words, Arthur. It's nothing to brag about."

"D'you want chips or not?" Arthur digs his elbow slightly into Merlin's side.

Merlin licks his lips at the mere mention – they're ridiculously full, Arthur notices. "Mmm, yes. Or maybe a kebab."

"Why not have both?"

Sarcasm is lost on Merlin, it seems. "That's the best idea you've had all night," he says, as he buttons his coat up against the cold evening.

"Even the play?"

Merlin looks thoughtful for a moment, and Arthur isn't entirely sure that he's joking. "Not better," he says eventually. "But just as rewarding." He finishes up with a pat of his non-existent belly.

"Where on earth do you put it all?" There isn't an ounce of spare fat on him that Arthur can see.

"Hollow legs."

Arthur snorts. "Unlikely. I've seen you drunk, remember?"

Merlin's cheeks take on a rosy glow. "That was one time. And anyway, it was completely Morgana's fault."

"Most things are," Arthur replies feelingly. He shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets. "Come on, there's a decent place just round this corner."

Merlin insists on paying for _both_ of them this time – apparently the Maltesers constituted Arthur buying dessert, even if it was the wrong way around. They make their way towards the Tube station, bags of chips in hand. Merlin has forgone the kebab, but the curry sauce he'd insisted up on has Arthur wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Did you like the play?" Merlin asks, as he licks the offending sauce off his fingers.

"It was okay."

Merlin grins. "Is that code for no?"

"No." Arthur blows on a chip – they're fresh from the fryer and exceedingly hot. "Just different. I'm more of an action film kind of a bloke."

"The two things aren't mutually exclusive, you know?"

" _You_ like action films?" Arthur works his hardest to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice.

"Why not? Because I'm gay?"

"No," Arthur says hurriedly. He really doesn't want to start those misunderstandings again. Not when they're getting on so well. "I just—"

"Relax." And Arthur does when he sees Merlin's smile. "I'm only teasing."

Arthur lets out a breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding. "Git."

"I do have all the Iron Man films though," Merlin says. "And Captain America."

"Avengers?" Arthur asks, and he's just a tiny bit excited that they're finding common ground. Finally.

"Of course." Merlin nods emphatically. "Anything by Joss Whedon – the man is a God."

Arthur pops a chip in his mouth and chews, his expression thoughtful. "You know, I've been meaning to re-watch them for ages."

"Why don't we?"

"What?"

"We could have a Marvel marathon," Merlin says, enthusiasm writ all over his face. And just as quickly it fades, leaving Arthur nonplussed. "No, never mind."

"No." Arthur isn't sure what happened, he just knows he wants the smile back. "It's a good idea. Great, actually." And he isn't lying. They're some of his favourite films, and the prospect of watching them with someone who feels the same makes it even better

They're at the Tube station entrance by now, both heading for different lines. They come to a halt by unspoken agreement and Merlin looks at him, expression uncertain. "Really? You'd want to?"

"I said so, didn't I?" Arthur leans in with a friendly nudge – it's strange, seeing Merlin so uncertain. "How about next weekend? I've got football on Saturday, but I'm free Sunday. You bring the snacks, I'll get the beers."

Merlin is silent for what feels like the longest time, and Arthur worries he's about to refuse. But then the smile returns, slowly, but just as bright. "Okay. You're on."

Arthur digs in his pocket for his Oyster card. "Make it _lots_ of snacks. I've seen the way you eat."

They go their separate ways then, and it's not until Arthur has bagged his favourite seat as 'driver' of the DLR that he realises he hasn't thought of Gwen all night.

~o0o~

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Arthur digs his elbow into Merlin's side. "I can't believe I _had_ to talk you into it. Most people would give their right arm for this chance."

Fidgeting with the blue and white scarf that Arthur had insisted on his wearing, Merlin does his best impression of a pouting toddler. "Well, I'm not most people," he mutters.

"That you aren't," Arthur agrees. He reaches out and flicks Merlin's admittedly fleshy bottom lip. "Now stop acting like a baby or they'll make us move to the family section."

"You." Merlin punctuates the word with a poke to Arthur's arm. "Are a bully. You're supposed to be wooing me, not dragging me places against my will."

Merlin's joking, Arthur knows that. And even if he didn't, the telltale glint in those crinkled eyes is a dead giveaway. But Merlin's far too much fun to tease to let that go by. "Wooing? You're not some romantic heroine, and I have no designs on your maidenly virtue."

"Arse," Merlin says, his words muffled as he buries his face in the fold of his scarf.

"Here." Arthur pulls the ticket from its holder. "Take this and do _not_ lose it." He points then to one of the looming turnstiles. "Through that one there."

There's a fair bit of jostling to get inside the stadium as always, but eventually they're through and Arthur takes a grip on Merlin's wrist to avoid losing him in the throng. It's not that he's expecting trouble – football has come a long way since the dark days of hooliganism – but everyone is just that bit more excitable for a local derby, and it's better to be safe than sorry.

"Where to now?" Merlin's wide-eyed as he takes in the scene before him.

"Bar," Arthur says with a vague nod in its general direction.

"Where?"

"Just keep walking till you hit the big queue."

Merlin, it turns out, is very useful when it comes to getting served. He's skinny enough to squeeze through the small gaps, and has elbows pointy enough to dissuade even the most determined of queue jumpers from their course of actions. The smile on his face when he emerges triumphant from the crowd, two plastic pint glasses full of mildly flat lager held aloft, reassures Arthur he made the right decision to bring him. Morgana had thought he was crazy – after all, Merlin professes to hate football. But Arthur's been dragged to enough museums and plays, and one particularly memorable poetry reading, so it's only fair that Merlin takes a turn. And tickets to a Chelsea/Arsenal game are not to be sniffed at. If it wasn't for Elena's unfortunate bout of flu freeing up her season ticket, he'd never have got Merlin in – not even with his connections.

It'll be at least a week before Leon forgives him for this – he's usually the go-to person when one of their tickets is up for grabs. But the look of horror on Merlin's face when Arthur had jokingly suggested it had proved too good an opportunity to miss. And now that he's got him here, Arthur plans to do his best to convert Merlin to the ways of the _beautiful game_.

They make short work of their drinks and Arthur hustles Merlin up the stairs and out into the stadium. He pauses at the top of the stairs to drink in the atmosphere of the already-packed stadium. There's something about emerging into this cauldron of energy and noise that allows Arthur to imagine emerging from the tunnel, that beloved blue shirt on his back. It's a brief moment, though, and he never dwells. Uther would never have allowed such nonsense, even if Arthur had been good enough.

He's dragged from his daydream by the now-familiar jab of Merlin's elbow. "Come on, Drogba."

Arthur doesn't even bother trying to hide his surprise – although the open-mouthed gape is possibly not the most flattering of expressions. 

Merlin grins smugly. "Don't look so surprised. I'm not completely clueless."

Arthur places a hand to Merlin's elbow and guides him towards their seats. "You were twenty-four hours ago."

Merlin eases his way past the line of people who stand to allow their access. There's a hint of colour in his cheeks that Arthur doesn't think is down to the wind. "Yeah, well, I can Google," he says, before taking his seat. "And besides, Gwen's football mad herself, so she gave me a crash course."

 _Gwen_. Arthur takes a moment to wonder why it never occurred to him to invite her along today – surely that would have been the obvious choice, given his ultimate goal. But then the teams spill out onto the pitch, and the crowd surges to their feet around him. The excitement of the game, combined with the confusing press of Merlin's body along his right side, is more than enough to keep Arthur's mind occupied for the next ninety minutes.

~o0o~

Arthur hasn't been back to Morgana's with his workmates since that fateful night. It's not that he doesn't trust his colleagues – he doesn't, though. They're absolute cocks with a drink in them – it's himself that he doesn't trust. He's still full of shame for that night with Merlin. His silence made him as guilty as the rest. Which is ridiculous. He's not homophobic, for fuck's sake. He's not… He just _isn't_. And even though Merlin says it's forgotten now, it isn't for Arthur. He's always prided himself on doing the right thing, and the fact that he didn't, even though he knew how wrong it was at the time, sticks like a claw in his gut.

Arthur is ashamed of himself and it doesn't sit well.

He knows it probably looks like he's brought them back here for a second chance to get it right. It's clearly the conclusion Morgana has leapt to. What Merlin makes of it all, Arthur has no idea. Since they entered the pub Merlin has avoided all efforts at eye contact.

The truth is that Arthur is here because they’ve been badgering him all day about after-work drinks, And there's only so many times he can say no if he hopes to progress in his career – his number of refusals is already raising a few eyebrows in the office. Arthur's _expected_ to do well and he really doesn’t like to disappoint, so every now and then he gives in. They would have come here anyway, with or without him. Val made that much very clear. And at least this way Arthur has a vain hope that his presence and his relationship to Morgana will hold back the worst of their excesses. 

What really worries Arthur, though, is that he'll fail the unspoken test again. That the challenge will come and he'll be found wanting -- too concerned about not rocking his own carefully crafted boat to worry if someone else's capsizes. And Arthur _knows_ Merlin now. _Likes_ him. They're friends. And that just makes the idea of failing him again almost too much to bear, so Arthur clings to that thought in the hope it will spur him on.

With an eye to reducing collateral damage, Arthur sends the rest of his group straight over to a table and heads to the bar alone. He can feel Morgana's narrowed gaze on him even before he can see it. 

"You're brave, bringing them back here."

"It'll be fine." It comes out with much more confidence that Arthur feels. 

Morgana rests her arms on the bar and leans closer. "I'm serious. Any trouble and I'll bar the lot of you."

"This isn’t the Queen Vic, Morgana." 

Like the aforementioned pub's namesake, Morgana is not amused. "Arthur!"

He holds his hands up in a placating fashion. "Okay, okay. I'll keep them under control."

"Really?" Morgana's tone is sceptical at best. "Like you did last time?"

It's a low blow, however close to the truth it may be. The heat creeping slowly up his neck makes Arthur eternally grateful for the dim lighting. "It'll be fine," he says through gritted teeth. "Now, is there any chance I might be able to get served?"

Apparently there isn’t though, because Morgana just folds her arms over her chest and continues to glare. She has good reason to be suspicious, Arthur knows that, but her lack of faith still stings.

Fortunately Merlin is nearby and inclined to take pity, 

"What can I get for you?" It's the first eye contact of the evening and Arthur is relieved to see it comes with a smile. "Apart from the obvious, of course."

Merlin finishes up with a grin and Arthur's a little flabbergasted because it sounds almost like Merlin was _flirting_ with him. And there's a tiny part of him that isn't as horrified by the prospect as he thinks he should be. But then he spots Gwen over Merlin's shoulder, and that makes more sense. Of course Merlin wasn't flirting. Arthur shakes his head briefly as if to clear his brain – it's been a long week. "Peroni," he says finally when it becomes obvious Merlin is still waiting.

"Six?" Merlin asks with a nod over at their table.

"Five. And a pint of Guinness."

Merlin retrieves the required bottles from the nearby chiller and Arthur absolutely is _not_ watching his long fingers as they deftly open each one.

"Guinness will be a while," he says, and grabs a tray for the other drinks. "Mithian's down there changing it now."

"I can wait." Arthur leans heavily on the bar – he's in no real hurry to join his companions.

"It's no problem." Merlin makes a note of the order on Arthur's extensive tab. "I'll bring it over."

"No!" _That_ is a very bad idea. Arthur is sure of it. 

Merlin rolls his eyes. "It's fine, Arthur. I'm not running scared from those bigoted arseholes."

Arthur grins in spite of the unpleasant gnawing in his stomach. "Are you allowed to talk about your customers like that?"

Merlin grins back and nods in the direction of Morgana, who's still glowering nearby. "She does. In fact, I got the impression it was a prerequisite of the job."

Arthur laughs and feels the knots in his stomach loosen. "You're probably right."

"Seriously, though, take these." Merlin slides the tray over the bar towards him. "I've dealt with worse people than those small-minded tosses over the years. I don't break easily."

The expression on Merlin's face brooks now argument, so Arthur reluctantly takes the tray. He catches Gwen's eyes as he turns from the bar and belatedly offers the most charming smile he can muster. She's watching him almost curiously, but gives a tentative smile in return. It'll have to do for now – Arthur has bigger worries tonight.

He sinks gratefully into an empty chair at Leon's side and almost instantly tunes out the conversation – they're playing _Shag Marry Cliff_ with the bar staff as options, and it's so painfully sixth form that Arthur is already desperate to leave. Right up until he hears Morgana's name – it's Val, of course. Who else.

"Hey! Fuck off!"

"What? It's not my fault she looks like a right dirty bitch." Val tilts his beer to his mouth but the smug expression is still more than visible. Arthur has never wanted to punch him more.

"That's my fucking sister you're talking about."

"That," Val says, "Is your problem. Not mine." He bangs his drink back down on the table. "I still reckon she'd get it."

Arthur's out of his chair and seconds away from flying over the table at the smug bastard when Merlin arrives with Leon's pint. The reminder of where he is is enough to have Arthur back in his chair. Val, on the other hand, has no intention of letting it go.

"Well, talking of bar staff you'd like to shag." He has nasty sneer to his face and his tone and Arthur can see Merlin tense at his side. "What about it, lads?" Val questions. "Anyone want a go on our resident fairy?"

This time Arthur doesn't think twice. He's over the table before anyone can get a hand to him. There's a satisfying crunch of fist on bone and Val's on the floor, nose bloody, and Arthur looming over him, hands still clenched ready in case.

Val gets to his feet unsteadily, but shrugs off Cedric's offered help. He spits mostly blood on the floor near Arthur's feet. "Well, that answers my question." And even though his voice is a little altered thanks to Arthur's impromptu rhinoplasty, the malice still shines through. "No wonder you haven't been out much lately – too busy bending your little girlfriend over that bar and—"

Arthur goes again, but this time one of the bouncers is there to stop him – Percy is big, burly and paid to stop this sort of shit. And then, as if things aren't already bad enough, Morgana appears. She looks from Arthur, who quickly stops resisting Percy's grasp, to Merlin, and then finally sweeps a look of disgust over the rest of the group. 

"You're all barred," she says, and manages to inject Uther Pendgragon levels of disdain into those three words. Arthur's impressed. 

Val isn't. He opens his mouth but before the bile can spill out, a freezing look from Morgana stops them in their tracks.

"Leave."

And as he watches his colleagues depart, tails very much between their legs, Arthur is sure that Morgana's glacial expression was far more effective in persuading them than even Percy's bulk was. He sags a little in Percy's grasp and is obviously deemed no longer a threat, because he's released. Work is going to be fun on Monday – that's always assuming he makes it out of Morgana's clutches in one piece.

His sister, though, delights in surprising him. "Show's over," she snaps at anyone foolish enough to be caught staring, and then turns to Merlin. "I'll cover the rest of your shift."

"I'm fine," Merlin protests. "I'm not the one with the messed up hand."

Morgana spares a quick glance for Arthur. "You might be," she says to Merlin, "But I think this one needs taking home."

Arthur's about to say that he's fine, but his hand really is a mess. It's throbbing like crazy, he's apparently shaking ever-so-slightly, and now that the adrenalin has faded, panic is starting to set in. Whilst he doesn't regret what he did, and would do it again in a heartbeat, Arthur knows that tonight's actions will seriously damage his career prospects. He might as well have written his own P45.

Because no one who knows her is stupid enough to argue with Morgana in this kind of mood, Merlin grabs his coat and nudges Arthur towards the exit. Moments later, they're in a taxi heading towards Arthur's flat. It's quiet and a little bit awkward, so Arthur sits and stares out at the passing city, hand cradled against his chest carefully.

"You didn't have to do that." 

Arthur turns his head and finds Merlin staring straight back at him. _Of course I did_ he wants to say, but that sounds like obligation, and really it was about so much more. "I wanted to," he says instead. "He deserved it."

Merlin doesn’t argue the point, and really, why would he? "Thank you," is all he says, so quietly Arthur barely hears him.

He shrugs then, and instantly regrets the jolt of his hand. "It's what I should have done the first time."

Merlin's eyes widen, bright even in the dark of the taxi. "You don't have to prove anything to me," he says it softly, and his tone mixed with the look on his face washes away the remnants of Arthur's shame. 

Arthur doesn't reply straight away, doesn't quite trust himself with words at that moment, so he turns his head back towards the city and allows himself to breathe. The silence isn't awkward this time though, and when Merlin slides over on the seat and leans his head on Arthur's shoulder it just feels right – he's not going to allow the hate of Val's words to taint their friendship. "Maybe not," he says eventually. "But I did have to prove something to myself."

"I don't know why you hang out with them. You're better than that." Merlin turns his head a little as he speaks and Arthur feels the tickle of soft hair against his neck.

It's not like Arthur hasn't asked himself this question time and again, but he's known the answer all along. "It's just how it is," he says, and it sounds far bleaker aloud than it did in his head. "If you want to get on at work, you have to put in the social hours outside of it too."

Thankfully Merlin doesn't comment on just how sad that really is. "You never talk about your job," he says instead. "Do you enjoy it?"

No one's ever really asked Arthur that before. It's always been assumed – especially by his father. But he can't lie to Merlin, not now, like this. "I used to enjoy the challenge. It was a real thrill making obscene amounts of money in such a short space of time – even if it wasn't my money."

"And now?"Because of course Merlin can't leave well enough alone.

"It pays the bills." Arthur hears how ridiculous that is as the words leave his mouth – even without his salary, paying the bills was never really going to be an issue.

"That's sad."And Merlin sounds like he genuinely means it. "What did you want to be when you were little?"

"I wanted my father to be proud of me." Arthur never even planned to say it – his father was a subject that was always left well alone. But there was just something about Merlin that burrowed through the bullshit and dragged out the truth.

"And now?"

Arthur's laugh is a little bitter. "I've realised that's not likely to happen."

Merlin's hand covers Arthur's good one for the briefest of moments. It's over so quickly that Arthur's left wondering if he imagined it. "So what would you be if you could choose anything?"

Arthur turns his head and Merlin moves back just enough to face him – there's nothing but genuine interest writ on his face. "Careers counsellor now, are you?" 

"Just curious. Besides, there's nothing wrong with dreams."

There isn't. That's true. It's just that Arthur was never really allowed to have ones of his own. Uther had dreamt Arthur's future long before he was old enough to form desires of his own. "I'd just like to be happy." He's mortified the instant the words leave his mouth. Baring this much of his soul was never part of the plan. 

Merlin, however, doesn't seem to notice. He just settles his head back on Arthur's shoulder, where apparently it fits perfectly against the curve of his neck. "You should be," he says softly. "You deserve it."

Arthur can't get those words out of his head as he struggles to sleep that night, and when he wakes the next morning, the memory of Merlin's earnest words still fresh in his memory, Arthur knows it's time to make a change.

~o0o~

"You quit your job?" Merlin comes to a sudden halt and stares open-mouthed at Arthur – heedless of disgruntled pedestrians behind.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a crazy person." Arthur tugs on Merlin's arm to get him moving again. It's not much of an improvement, though. Although Merlin _is_ walking, his attention is still fixed on Arthur, so he's as much of a hazard as he was before.

"I'm not sure you aren't crazy." Merlin's wide-eyed and still gaping as Arthur tries to steer him through London foot traffic.

"You're the one who said I should be happy." Arthur's joking, mostly. He didn't do this because of what Merlin said – it's been a decision a long time in the making – but he might be a little disappointment by Merlin's reaction. Maybe.

"You're not blaming this on me."

Arthur looks sideways at Merlin, his long fingers wrapped tightly around his coffee – how he hasn't tipped it over someone by now, Arthur has no idea. "There's no blame here, Merlin. Just relax."

Merlin blows on his coffee, steam rising in the cold air. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Anything." Arthur spreads his arms as if to illustrate just how much the world is his oyster now. The woman whose bag he knocks off her shoulder is less than impressed.

Merlin smiles now and it's a relief after the worry before. "Morgana's looking for new bar staff," he offers.

"I did not quit my job to work for my sister." Arthur may have growled that last part a little, because, seriously?

"I can't believe you're so calm about it."

"What's to worry about?" Apart from his father's reaction when the news reaches his ears, but Arthur's studiously _not_ thinking about that.

Merlin gives him a look of disdain. "Oh, I don't know, bills, rent, food?" He pauses then before adding, "On second thoughts, I've seen your flat; I'm sure you'll be fine."

Arthur grins and is forced to step carefully round a ridiculously small dog, yapping at his feet. "I'll survive," he agrees. "No food banks for me just yet."

"But what if you change your mind?"

"I won't," Arthur says with the certainty of one who can't go back even if he wants to.

"You don’t know that." Merlin seems determined to be particularly stubborn today.

"I never chose it, Merlin." Arthur hasn't admitted that out loud before and it only adds to the sense of liberation. My father got me that job straight out of university, where I did a degree he chose, in the college he went to. It's time I make some choices of my own."

"Like what?" 

"That's the beauty of it," Arthur says, trying to hide the fact he doesn't have a clue. "It can be anything I want."

Merlin laughs at this and Arthur can't help but join him. "You might want to work on narrowing that down a little"

"Then it's a good thing I have you to help." Arthur slings an arm around Merlin's shoulders and treats him to the brightest of grins.

And then he stops dead. Right in the middle of the pavement.

"Come on, pillock." It's a bit rich considering Merlin recently did the exact same thing, but Arthur's not focussed on that right now. Because there in front of them, holding hands and snuggling like newlyweds, are Gwen and one of the most impossibly handsome men that Arthur has ever seen.

"How long?" he demands, and the coldness in his voice is eerily reminiscent of his farther.

"What are you talking about?" Merlin's blustering – it's obvious from the way his eyes flick nervously in Gwen's direction.

"How long have they been together?" Arthur nods sharply at the retreating couple. "How long have you been…what? Playing games? Laughing at me behind my back?"

If it's actually possible, Merlin goes even paler than he already is. "No! It's not like that."

"Then how is it?" Arthur can't help the sneer, and he feels every arsehole-ish tendency he's struggled to forget clamouring to return. "Enlighten me."

"She was single to start with, I swear."

That's something, Arthur supposes, but it's still not enough. "How long?" he repeats.

Merlin looks around as if in search of rescue. None is forthcoming. "Just after the play," he admits finally.

"That was nearly two months ago." Arthur clenches his fists – he has no intention of hurting Merlin, however angry he may be, but it would not do to punch a wall in public. Besides, his hand is still smarting from Valiant's face.

"I didn't know for the first few weeks." Merlin's expression is painfully earnest, like he's willing Arthur to believe him. "And then…"

"Then what?"

"I was having fun," he says quietly, cheeks pinked by something other than the brisk wind. "Not like that," Merlin adds hurriedly after catching Arthur's expression. "I mean, _we_ were having fun. I haven't got many bloke friends – the whole gay thing tends to get in the way. But you didn't care. Or, at least you didn't show it."

"I don't care that you're gay, Merlin." Arthur rakes one had through his hair in frustration. "I _care_ that you lied to me."

Merlin winces visibly. "I thought if you knew, then you wouldn't want to hang out any more. And then you stopped mentioning her, so I figured it wouldn't matter to you anyway."

It's a valid point. By his own admission Arthur hasn't thought of Gwen in a while. But that does rather raise the question of what he's been doing with Merlin. It's a thought that does nothing to sweeten his mood. "That isn't the point," he says as frostily as he can when faced with Merlin's obvious misery. "You still should have told me. I thought we were supposed to be friends."

"We are." Merlin's long fingers warp around Arthur's wrist. He sounds so earnest, so genuine that Arthur almost relents.

Almost.

"Friends don't lie to each other." He shakes off Merlin's touch and turns to leave.

"What about the cinema?" Merlin asks, reaching for him again. "I thought we were—"

"I'm really not in the mood for company right now." And Arthur avoids Merlin's gaze – it's the only way to hold his resolve.

"You can't just go. At least let's talk about it."

Arthur shakes his head. "Not now," he says, and shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets. "I'll call you," he adds, before turning to go, because he will do, eventually, he knows that. But only when he can trust himself not to hurt Merlin the same way _he_ feels hurt right now.

~o0o~

Arthur ignores Merlin's attempts at contact for the next few days. In fairness, he ignores everyone – word has spread of his latest 'career move' and his father has been calling. And then there's Morgana, who wants to harangue and mock him in equal measure, if her texts are anything to go by.

His father's calls are consigned to voicemail – Arthur's heard the censure often enough that it really doesn't bear repeating. There's only so many times the word disappointment can be wielded as a weapon before it becomes blunt and ineffective – just another word. And Merlin… Arthur's really too confused about what's going on there – he has all these feelings that don’t quite make sense and no idea what to do with them.

Which brings him back to Morgana. As much as they bicker and squabble and test their claws out on each other, they're close and fiercely protective of each other. If he asks for advice, yes, she'll laugh and call him repressed, but she'll also try to help because she genuinely does care. And even though she's friends with Merlin, Arthur knows she'll be honest, and it's the closest he's going to get to good advice from anyone he knows.

It doesn't mean he wouldn't rather stick pins in his eyes than dial her number, but he's hiding away and it has to stop. Pendragons don't hide from their problems – he agrees with his father on that much at least.

"You're alive then." As greetings go it's not the friendliest. But Arthur grits his teeth.

"Morgana," he says, and then flounders at where to start – the phrase _I need your help_ doesn't exactly roll off his tongue.

"I can't talk now. Mithian's buggered off shopping and I have to deal with this delivery. Come over."

Arthur's barely opened his mouth to reply before she adds, "And no, Merlin's not working."

Gwen is, it transpires, when Arthur gets there. But the look of betrayal sent Morgana's way is, as always, completely wasted. He's here now, though, so Arthur makes the best of it. He shrugs off his coat and grabs an empty seat at the bar. He can feel Gwen's gaze before he sees it. She's not angry; it's a curious, almost pitying expression that he doesn't quite know what to do with. Fortunately Morgana chooses that moment to acknowledge his existence. She slides a drink in his direction and opens with "You're an idiot."

Arthur takes a drink before muttering, "You haven't even heard my side."

Morgana leans over the bar and fixes him with a soul-baring gaze. "I don't have to. I _know_ you."

"Whose side are you on?" It's silly, really, getting upset. This is who Morgana is. It's _why_ he came here.

She rolls her eyes in return. "This is real life, Arthur. Not the playground. Besides, I like Merlin."

"So do I," Arthur replies mulishly. "Or, I did."

Morgana doesn't reply straight away, but watches so intensely that it feels as though she's peeling back layers. "What are you really angry about?"

"What?" Arthur frowns in confusion, because he thought that much was obvious.

"Are you angry that he didn't tell you about Gwen and Lance, or are you angry that he lied to you?"

"It's the same thing."

"It's really not." She reaches out and pats his hand – it's as close to physical displays of affection as they're likely to get. "Think about it."

So Arthur takes a sip of his drink and does as he's told. It turns out he's really not that bothered about Gwen and her new beau. Yes, she's beautiful and lovely and quite possibly all the things Arthur could want in a girlfriend, but it isn't the loss of his chance that stings the most. "That he lied," Arthur says slowly, as if testing the words. And once they're out there he's forced to recognise the truth of them.

Morgana pulls back, an expression on her face like a satisfied cat. "Progress at last," she says approvingly.

"How? I'm still mad at him."

"Did he explain why he did it?"

Arthur gives a slight shrug. "Some rubbish about me not wanting to be friends anymore if I knew."

"Is that really so bad?" Morgana tucks a stray curl behind her ear and almost smiles. "It's quite a compliment, if you think about it."

"But he still lied." _And it hurts_ , but Arthur's not about to say that out loud.

"You're awfully fixated on a technicality. As lies go, it's not that bad. You need to ask yourself why it bothers you so much."

"What are you getting at?" Arthur really doesn’t have time for cryptic, and says as much.

"You have all the time in the world – you're unemployed." Morgana pauses and gives a slight shake of her head. "But that’s another conversation altogether – one I'll leave to Uther." She smiles then, well aware how much Arthur is looking forward to _that_. "What I'm saying is that you like Merlin, and that's why it bothers you."

"We've already established that." Arthur is really beginning to regret coming here if that's the best insight she has.

Morgana rolls her eyes again – one of these days they're going to fall out, Arthur thinks. "Do I have to walk you to every revelation?" She huffs softly. "You _like him_ , like him."

"That's ridiculous." It's an automatic response and Arthur deliberately doesn't examine the twist of something like panic in his belly.

But Morgana isn't easily swayed. "You think so? Why did you start all of this?"

"You know why."

"Indulge me."

"Gwen," Arthur says shortly – Morgana is starting to play games and he's really not in the mood.

She shakes her head. "I don't think it was. If you'd really wanted her, you would have just asked her out. You're not exactly backward in coming forward usually."

"This was your bloody idea!" Arthur protests, because it was, and she's not going to turn this round on him now.

"And since when do you listen to me?"

Elbows on the bar, Arthur rests his head in his hands. "You're supposed to be helping me, not messing with my head."

"I am helping. Not that you deserve it."

Arthur looks up at that. "Why not."

"Merlin's upset."

"So am I."

Morgana's smile is gone and her tone laced with frustration. "So do something about it.

~o0o~

Taking Morgana's advice is what got Arthur in this mess in the first place. He tells himself he'd be crazy to listen to her again. But he's still hiding in his flat and that can't go on; things _have_ to change.

Merlin doesn't disappoint. He's right where Arthur expects to find him, in that awful squishy chair by the window, and it feels a little like they've come full circle. Arthur makes his way through the crowded coffee shop – this close to Christmas it seems like everyone is in town. He sinks into the gaudy red tub chair opposite Merlin and doesn't wait for his courage to desert him.

"I've been thinking."

Merlin's startled fawn expression makes a comeback. "About what?" he asks warily.

"I'd like to take you out for dinner."

Something shifts in Merlin's expression that Arthur can't quite name. "You really don't have to. Gwen and Lance aren't breaking up any time soon."

"Fuck Gwen!" Arthur's so tired of being misunderstood

Merlin tenses in his chair, mouth open but nothing coming out.

"That came out wrong." Arthur's flustered. He's practiced this conversation so many times, but as usual, Merlin throws him off track. He clears his throat and tries again. "What I meant was I don't care about Gwen, or who she's dating. I want to take you to dinner because…"

Arthur stops for a moment, the heat of embarrassment creeping its way up his neck. But Merlin only nods encouragingly.

"Because, appearances to the contrary, I think I might like you. Quite a bit, actually."

Merlin's face breaks into a grin to rival the sun. "You're so terribly proper," he teases.

"Hey! I'm baring my soul here; don't mock." Although Arthur doesn't mind, not really. Not when Merlin looks at him like that.

Merlin places his book on the table and leans forward. "Who's mocking? I happen to have quite a thing for repressed public schoolboys."

Arthur can't help but smile now – this is going a lot easier than he expected. Than he deserves. "Is that a yes, then?"

He feels Merlin's feet tangle with his own under the table. "What do you think?"

Despite the fact it's cold outside, that he can still feel the bite of the wind on his cheeks, Arthur suddenly feels warm all over. "I think…" He stops then and decides to cast his carefully planned speeches to the winds. "Fuck it," he says softly.

Merlin barely has time to frown before Arthur leans across the table and kisses him.

Merlin tastes of coffee and cinnamon and all the things that Arthur's told himself he doesn't need for far too long. It's a soft, sweet kiss, and though Arthur wants nothing more than to explore Merlin's mouth thoroughly, he's still mindful of exactly where they are. So with one last swipe of his tongue along Merlin's bottom lip – a promise for later – he pulls back.

Merlin whines when he pulls away. An honest to goodness _whine_. And Arthur couldn't wipe the smile off his face now if he tried – not that he intends to. Instead he leans back in his chair, grin stretched from ear to ear.

"You're terribly easy for a first date, Merlin Emrys."

"You're the one who mauled me," Merlin splutters, his cheeks a delightful shade of pink.

"Details," Arthur says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Besides," Merlin crosses his arms and pouts in a way that tells Arthur he's going to have a hard time saying no, _ever_ , "we've been out together loads."

"They don't count," Arthur says, expression turning serious. "I wasn’t…" He pauses to clear his throat – this sort of thing really doesn’t come easily. "But I am, now. And we're going to do this properly."

Merlin reaches out and takes hold of Arthur's hand. "You really are quite lovely underneath it all, aren't you?" he says, but then sits back with a smirk. "But if this really is only our first date, you do realise you're talking yourself out of sex tonight?"

Merlin gets to his feet then, book in hand. He tips a wink at Arthur, who's still more than a little stunned, and heads towards the door. He's halfway there before Arthur manages to close his mouth and realise what's happening.

Arthur gets to his feet and follows quickly. He might not know what he's doing yet, but that wink of Merlin's promised an education _and more_ , and there's no way he's missing out on that.

~o0o~


End file.
